Chapter 21
twenty-one
HUNTER
Eight months later…
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in March isn’t what most people would consider ideal vacation weather, but my mother loves it. She says the way the wind whips off the ocean reminds her of growing up on the shores of Lake Constance in Germany, though my grandparents left the country when she was barely five years old.
Still, she insists she remembers their small home with the dark wood shutters carved in the Bavarian style, and the way the sun dipped behind the softly rolling green mountains in the summertime.
My grandparents survived Hitler’s Germany by carrying false papers procured by my grandfather’s wealthy Gentile family. They hid in plain sight in a small, but brave Protestant community that closed ranks around them, keeping them safe as the country went mad.
But the constant fear that my Jewish grandmother would be discovered and taken to the concentration camps left scars that refused to heal while they still lived in their native land. After the war ended, as soon as they were able to save up enough money, they immigrated to the United States, eventually moving into a tiny home in a development not far from Buffalo, New York.
There, my grandmother gave birth to three more girls, one after the other. Mom suspects her mother was trying to do her part to make up for all the relatives she’d lost. Neither she nor my grandfather had any idea that the little house they’d scrimped and saved to purchase was built on toxic waste, or that all their children would be barren and dead before the age of fifty.
All except my mother…
That’s why she’s always hoped for grandchildren.
I am the last chance for our family line to live on, the last chance to prove that the Mendelssohns are survivors.
I hate that I couldn’t make her dream come true, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved that Elaina and I parted ways before it was too late. I was a fool to think I’d be able to impregnate the woman I loved, then vanish from her and our baby’s lives without a trace.
Turns out, I’m not that cold or callous.
Though sometimes, I wish I were.
It’s been eight months since we said goodbye, eight long, miserable months, and I still see her everywhere. In the glossy ponytail of a woman walking down the street ahead of me, in the cut of a vintage-style dress in a shop window, in my dreams, where she haunts me every night with her beauty, her kiss, her laughter…
“Are you all right?” my mother asks from across the table, concern in her voice. “You’ve been quiet since we sat down.”
I push the dark thoughts away and force a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’m not used to marathon shopping.”
She sits up straighter in her chair, looking pleased. “Who would have thought? Me tiring you out! Think how spunky I’ll be once I’m done with the last round of chemo.”
“I’m a little afraid to, honestly,” I tease, making her laugh. “I’ll never be able to keep up with you.”
We spent the day wandering Portsmouth’s historic downtown, ducking in and out of shops while avoiding the bracing wind off the harbor. Mom insisted on visiting every soap, kitchen, and kitschy New England store we passed, cooing over the lobsters and seagulls adorning everything from sweatshirts to olive oil bottles to hand cream.
Lobsters…
They also remind me of Elaina. Of that night at the lobster boil, when we had no idea that we were on our way to falling in love, and the lobster-print pajamas she sometimes wore to bed when we actually bothered to put on clothes.
The fact that Mom chose a lobster restaurant by the bay for our early dinner, complete with lobster art covering every wall, carved lobsters hanging from the ceiling, and a lobster napkin holder that crouches by my plate, looking smug, feels personal.
“But there’s still more to see tomorrow,” Mom says, taking a sip of her chardonnay. “The woman I was chatting with at the soap store says the craft collective has some incredible art, and there’s a witch store tucked away on a side street that’s fascinating to poke around.”
I arch a brow. “A witch store?”
She nods. “You know, one of those places where you can get crystals and incense and ingredients for spells. She said their tarot card reader is extraordinary and very reasonably priced.”
I frown as I fold my arms over my chest. “Since when have you been into things like that?”
She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. It just seems interesting, that’s all. Why have I been given a new lease on life if not to explore new things?” I offer a grunt in response, but she only laughs. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. You can go to a coffee shop and check your email or call your assistant and yell about the Harrison deal some more.”
“The Morrison deal,” I correct. “And I wasn’t yelling. I was assertively encouraging Dana to get tough with the old man. He shook hands on the purchase price. Trying to raise that price forty-eight hours before the deal is set to close is bad form. Not to mention a waste of time. I will not be moved.”
Mom nods, her smile fading. “You are stubborn. That’s for sure.”
“I wonder who I learned that from?”
But she doesn’t smile this time. Instead, she decides to take my teasing seriously. “Well, from me, of course. But having my mind set on achieving one outcome, at any cost, hasn’t always served me well, darling.”
“You’re alive,” I remind her, as grateful for that as ever. “You wouldn’t be if you’d given up when everyone said you were out of options.”
She inclines her head in acknowledgement of my point. “Yes, but if I hadn’t been so stubbornly determined to honor my marriage vows, I would have left your father so much sooner. I could have spared us both so much suffering and pain.”
My jaw clenches.
Before I can comment on that, she adds, “And if I hadn’t pushed so hard for you to settle down and start a family, maybe you wouldn’t have rushed things with Elaina. And maybe the two of you would still be together right now.”
Thankfully, our waiter arrives at that moment, delivering lobsters cooked in a wood fire oven that smell absolutely delicious.
Too bad my mother has effectively killed my appetite…
But it’s better to eat than talk about the one who got away. “This looks great,” I say, collecting my fork and knife. “It’s nice that they shell it for you. Much less mess.”
“But sometimes mess is okay,” Mom says, making no move to reach for her silverware. “Just because you hit a messy patch, it doesn’t mean you should give up on love.”
“Mom, please,” I say.
“Won’t you please tell me what went wrong between you?” she presses. “I know you said it was a difference of opinion that made a future together impossible, but I can’t imagine an opinion so important that it would come between me and someone I loved as much as you loved her. I know you loved Elaina, Hunter. I could see it every time you looked at her. And she loved you, too. It was real and so special.”
Real…
She has no idea, but I can’t tell her it was a lie from the start. I’m her only relative, the only person she knows she can count on, no matter what. Giving her a reason to doubt my trustworthiness would only hurt her, and that’s the last thing I want.
So, you’re lying to spare her, just like she and Elaina both lied to spare you. Funny how that’s acceptable for you—for your mother, even—but you hung Elaina out to dry.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” I say, with more heat than I intended. Pulling in a breath, I add in a gentler voice, “Please, let’s just…enjoy the meal.”
“All right,” Mom says. “Of course.”
We eat in silence for a while, the clink of silverware mixing with the murmur of other diners’ conversations and the cry of seagulls. The restaurant sits right on the harbor, its wide windows offering a view of boats bobbing in their moorings and the birds circling in the increasingly pink sky.
It’s a beautiful view.
And I hate it.
Even if Mom hadn’t mentioned Elaina, every time I glance at the ocean, I think of the view from her apartment in Sea Breeze. Of the way the water glittered as we sipped wine on her tiny patio in the chilly fall air that first weekend together, when I was still stupid enough to think it would be easy to say goodbye when our fuck fest was done.
But it was always more than fucking with her. It was raw and honest and the closest I’ve ever felt to another human being. I was so positive that I could trust her, that there was no possible way she could be hiding things from me.
And then she proved I was as big a fool as all the other chumps I’d made fun of in my life—the men so besotted with their much-younger wives they couldn’t see they were being manipulated. Played.
Elaina played me, feigning innocence from the moment I got the call to come to the hospital until I confronted her the next day.
If Mom hadn’t woken up, if I’d been forced to rely on answers from Elaina, would I ever have learned the truth?
I don’t know. But the thought of living the rest of my life oblivious to the fact that my wife was keeping a massive secret from me is all it takes to firm up my resolve never to see her again.
Yes, I loved her—I still love her, and maybe I always will—but I love the truth more.
I won’t live a lie, not even if the lie would probably make me happier than I’ll ever be without the one who got away.
“Just tell me one thing,” my mother finally pipes up, her focus still on her half-eaten lobster tail. “Was it my fault? Was it because I asked her to keep my secret?”
“Of course not,” I say, motioning to the waiter for another glass of wine. I was only going to have one, but this dinner is taking a turn I didn’t expect and haven’t prepared for. I need something to take the edge off before I end up snapping at my mother again. “I told you before, it had nothing to do with that. Nothing at all.”
She makes a dubious sound. “Yes, you did. But I’m not a fool, Hunter. The timing of Elaina’s departure from the city is awfully suspicious.”
“A coincidence,” I say, tucking back into the meal, even though I’d much rather head outside for a walk.
Or a run. I would like to put on my sneakers and run and run and run, until I’m too exhausted to think of anything but a shower and a good night’s sleep.
“You know what they say about coincidences,” Mom says, trailing off as she swirls her fork in the angel hair pasta that came as a side with the meal.
A sailboat cuts across my view of the harbor, its white sail bright against the darkening sky. I focus on it, pretending I didn’t hear her. Maybe if I keep her waiting long enough, she’ll finally let this go.
Another stretch of silence follows, broken only by the clink of silverware around us and the delivery of my second glass of Pinot Noir.
“Well, Einstein said coincidences were God’s way of remaining anonymous,” Mom finally continues. “But me? I say coincidences are bullshit.”
I glance up sharply.
My mother never cusses. Never. Not a single time that I can remember in all my childhood and adulthood.
Her lips curve in a thin smile. “I thought that might get your attention. Just tell me the truth, son. I can handle it. If what I did came between the two of you, I need to know. It will help me to know better than to make a stupid mistake like that again.”
I exhale, slowly and completely, determined not to give her any sign that the responsibility for this lies at her feet.
It doesn’t. Elaina is the one who chose to keep the secret, and she was in her right mind at the time, not weighed down by years of fighting for her life and the knowledge that she only had a short time left. Mom wasn’t thinking clearly when she confided in Elaina. I can understand and forgive that, but I can’t forgive Elaina.
Not now, not ever.
There is no future for us, no way to make this better. Letting Mom know what really happened would only cause her to feel guilty for absolutely no reason, and I’m not a fan of pointless suffering.
So, with a gentle note of exasperation into my tone, I assure her, “No, Mom. Stop this. Elaina and I fought about something totally unrelated to you or the secret you asked her to keep.” I add more firmly, “But what we fought about is private, and not something I’m prepared to share with you. So please, let it go, okay?”
She studies me for a long moment before a smile stutters across her face. “Okay, if you promise.”
“I do,” I lie.
I promise not to tell her anything different, anyway, and that’s a promise I intend to keep.
“Well, good. That’s nice to know. A real relief.” She exhales a soft laugh. “Speaking of relief, I’ll be right back,” she says, her smile widening as she scoots her chair away from the table. “I need to visit the ladies’ room. If they come by with the dessert menu, I’d love to take a look.”
“I’ll ask for it,” I assure her, skewering the last bite of my lobster’s plump claw.
I watch her wind through the tables as I chew, noting how much stronger her stride is now. The surgery was successful, the chemo finished the job, and against all odds, she’s in complete remission. She still has one more round of precautionary chemo this spring—just to make sure they haven’t missed any last lingering cells—but her prognosis is good. She could have another ten years, maybe even twenty. Her grandmother on her father’s side lived to be ninety-seven.
It’s an outcome I wouldn’t have imagined possible when I approached Elaina with my bargain.
Things have worked out for the best.
My mother has a future, Elaina and I broke ties before we ended up bound for life due to an act of desperation, and I will eventually stop thinking about the brat who had me wrapped around her finger for a few weeks one summer and move on.
It’s just a matter of time.
A high-pitched squeal draws my attention across the room. A woman with bright red hair beams as she takes a picture of her husband and baby on the other side of the booth. The little girl has fistfuls of pasta clutched in both hands, red sauce all over her cheeks, and appears to be having the time of her life making a mess no high chair or bib could hope to contain. Her parents are both laughing, caught up in their daughter’s joy as she discovers the magic of spaghetti.
My chest aches at the sight.
I would have been a terrible father. The fact that Elaina made me doubt that for even a day or two is proof that it’s best we went our separate ways.
If only we’d broken up before this longing seeped beneath my skin, making it itch every time I see a couple with a new baby. Making me wish things had ended differently, and I’d been given the chance to prove myself wrong…
I’m so busy watching the family—and reminding myself of all the reasons I would have let a child down, sooner or later—that I don’t realize Mom’s been gone too long until the waiter finally swings by, offering the dessert menu.
“Yes, we’ll see the menu, and two espressos, please,” I say, glancing at my watch as he leaves.
It’s been at least twenty minutes, maybe more.
I’m about to go check on Mom, worried she might have fallen—she’s steadier on her feet but still has bouts of vertigo from time to time—when she reappears, crossing the dining room with her lips pressed together in a thin, irritated line.
I know that expression from childhood, and I know I’m in trouble even before she arrives back at our table.
She rests a hand on the back of her chair as she demands, “Did you know about this? About Elaina?”
I frown. Hard. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I just spoke with her friend, Maya,” she says, sending my brows zipping up my forehead. What the hell has she been up to? “She said that you haven’t been communicating with anyone from Maine, that you’ve even been avoiding your friends in the city, so you probably have no idea what’s happening. But I wanted to make sure.” Her lips tighten again. “I would be so disappointed if you had known and left her to handle this alone.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask again, my heart beating faster. “What’s happened? Is Elaina okay?”
“No, she’s not,” she says, throwing fuel on the fear fire building inside of me, setting it to blazing. “But she will be. We’re going to make sure of it.” As the waiter approaches with our espressos, she shifts her attention his way. “We’re going to need those to go, please, and the check as quickly as possible. We have a family emergency.”
The second he’s gone, I demand, “What emergency? Is Elaina hurt? Was it a car accident or?—”
“I’ll tell you more in the car,” Mom says, cutting me off as she shrugs into her coat and reaches for her purse. “We need to get back to the hotel and pack up. Quickly. I told Maya we’d be in Sea Breeze by seven. Seven thirty at the latest. It’s only a ninety-minute drive from here. Luckily, we ate early, so we won’t have to worry about stopping on the way.”
I stand, biting back the questions surging up my throat, knowing better than to push her when she has her mind made up. She’ll tell me in the car, just like she said.
In the meantime, I’ll just have to do my best not to lose my fucking mind with worry.
“Maya has a vacation rental available,” Mom continues as we leave the restaurant, heading across the darkening parking lot toward my car. “She said we could stay there. She seems like a delightful young woman. Very sweet and such a devoted friend.” She shoots me another narrow look as I open the passenger’s door for her. “Not the kind who would leave someone she loved to navigate a difficult time alone, even if she does have a three-month-old baby of her own to take care of.”
For a moment, I consider telling her that Maya is married to a very wealthy man, and can absolutely afford a night nanny, a day nanny, and a personal assistant to hold the child while she makes phone calls, if she wanted one, but I don’t.
It wouldn’t make a difference, and…that’s not really the point.
The point is that Maya has clearly stepped up for Elaina in a time of need, while I have been absent, so busy licking my own wounds that I never stopped to think that maybe Elaina wasn’t living her best life up in Maine. In my head, I imagined her back to her old self, drawing the gaze of every male in the room at line dancing and inviting handsome tourists up to her apartment. I was sure she’d already rebounded from our brief romance and was probably well on her way to finding happily ever after with one of the mouth-breathing fishermen who couldn’t stop drooling over her at the lobster boil.
But clearly, I was wrong.
Elaina isn’t okay. She’s in some kind of trouble. Even if my mother wasn’t deliberately holding information until we’re on the road to Maine, that would have been enough to make me pack with record speed.
I don’t care how badly things ended between us, the thought of Elaina hurt or suffering makes me crazy. I don’t want that for her. I want her to have the happiness she deserves; the kind I’d hoped to give her before everything went sideways.
Before you pushed her away because you’re a control freak who couldn’t handle how vulnerable he felt, you mean? You were so spooked by how deeply she was able to hurt you that you cut off your nose to spite your face.
But that’s not even the worst part.
The worst part is that you cut off her nose, too.
And she didn’t deserve that. She deserved the chance to make things right. A braver man would have given her that chance. He would have done it that first morning, let alone by now.
What the hell is wrong with you? How long are you going to let a few bad decisions on both your parts ruin your chance at happiness?
Are you really that much of a coward?
The inner voice drones in my head as I load our bags into the trunk, while Mom hands in the key at the front desk.
Maybe it’s right.
Maybe I’ve been lying to myself for months about why I put the phone down every time I’m tempted to call the woman I can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try…
Maybe it’s been fear calling the shots this whole time.
Looks like I have ninety minutes to decide if that’s true.
And if it is, what I intend to do about it…